


The Inspector and the Iceman

by ObsidianButterfly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, M/M, Male Slash, Oral Sex, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 03:16:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianButterfly/pseuds/ObsidianButterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is rather taken with a certain Scotland Yard Inspector and sets out to make sure he is his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Inspector and the Iceman

He kissed him. Granted that it had been a harsh, insolent crush of lips against his but still, he had the gall to kiss him! 

Those warm, wet lips had disappeared as quickly as they had come as the man responsible had retreated down the bustling London Street. 

Shocked and now standing under the pouring rain, he glanced around to see if anyone was watching him. Not one person on the street was even looking his way. Perhaps stolen kisses from strange men happened to them all the time?

Lestrade turned his head again and looked left, watching the tall, impeccably dressed man walk away, his umbrella held high over his head, not a drop of water seeming to touch him as he glided among the crowd. No one so much as jostled him as they passed, parting like a wave as he strode with purpose to the end of the road. 

Greg’s head buzzed. Did that man really just nonchalantly kiss him in a crowed street? Before sauntering off without as much as an explanation or follow through? What made him think that he would welcome such an advance? Lestrade was a little shell shocked, his mind reeling with what just happened. He wasn’t-well, normally he didn’t, with, with...you know, men. He flushed at the thought glancing, superciliously at the retreating figure.

The bustle of the street brought him back to his senses, realising he was standing slack jawed on Baker Street, Greg quickly pulled the collar of his jacked up against the cold, dripping, rain before striding off, with purpose back to his car. He could not help relaying the whole scenario in his mind.

He had been with Sherlock and John in their flat on Baker Street. Sherlock showing off as usual, mouth nattering a mile a minute telling him exactly how he should do his job. If he wasn’t right so much, Greg summarised, he would enjoy kicking Sherlock’s arse out his door every time he set foot into Scotland Yard. 

Sherlock’s older brother Mycroft came wandering in after an hour or so. Greg had only a few conversations with the older Holmes. He seemed bright, super intelligent just like his brother, a little colder (if anyone could be!) than Sherlock. Greg got the sense of power and importance from the older Holmes but also a slight sense of unease he couldn’t quite place. He was a Detective Inspector and usually his gut warned him if something was off. Something was definitely off.

Both Sherlock and Mycroft muttered something vague about minor government positions when Lestrade asked what he did for a living once, many months ago, both skirting around the answer and managing to tell him exactly nothing about Mycroft’s work. 

His few passing occurrences with Mycroft had been formal, perhaps a little strained given that he seemed to show up at the most inopportune times. More often than not they were busy working and Greg had the feeling Sherlock’s brother was butting his nose in on official police business. 

Lestrade snorted to himself as he got into his car. Obviously it runs in the family.

Sherlock’s brother always appeared cool and calculating; Greg had heard John refer to him as the Iceman on one occasion and had to agree the name suited him. He never saw Mycroft anything but impeccably dressed, full suit no matter the weather, a sardonic smirk almost perpetually in place that made Lestrade feel he was laughing inwardly at them all, his own brother included. Mycroft had the habit of always giving the kind of look that adults give to children when they are being precocious. 

Trademark umbrella always swinging through his fingers the man tapped it, leaned on it, caressed it, twirled it. Greg had even once seen Mycroft carrying it when the sun scorched the bright blue London sky and they rest of them were sweating in their t-shirts and sunglasses. It distracted Lestrade so much one afternoon in Baker Street and he had to stop himself from snatching it out Mycroft’s hands to cease its constant movement. He had glanced up to see Mycroft watching him intently and then resumed tapping it on the floor. Greg had gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it.

He puzzled over the older Holmes often. Although much more cooler and remote than Sherlock, Mycroft had actually asked him more questions about himself in the few months he had known him than Sherlock had in the entire four years that he had known him. 

When not chatting about the current case the Iceman had enquired about his work? Good thanks. Family? Not much. Married? Divorced. Children? No. 

Nothing Greg said seemed to gain much of reaction from him. In fact Lestrade had the distinct impression that Mycroft already knew the details and was just watching his reactions. After nearly an hour of personal questions one evening he shot back an angry: ‘are you planning on surveilling me or something?!’ This only earned him a small secretive smirk from the older Holmes.

Today, however, Mycroft had been most eager to speak with his brother. Sherlock informed Greg later that it was regarding the case they were working on, Mycroft had some information. Lestrade puzzled over why Mycroft would be interested and what exact level of government would let him poke his nose in on Scotland Yard cases. He had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t going to like the level of influence that man had.

 

Back at his office Lestrade tried to concentrate on the work he was supposed to be doing and not on the fact Mycroft Holmes had kissed him in the middle of Baker Street. It had not been a friendly hello/farewell kiss; he hadn’t laughed or smirked as he did it. It had not been some sort of joke. Well, he supposed it could have been, why else would he do it to him, without warning? Was he looking for a reaction? Perhaps wanting Lestrade to start a fight? Would Sherlock tease him about it the next time he visited? Perhaps, even, someone had taken a picture so they could laugh at his expense? No, they were not the type for practical jokes. The Holmes brother’s wit was sarcastic not shave-your-friends-eyebrows-off-when-drunk, kind of funny.

Distracted and a little uncomfortable, h yelled at Donovan to get him more coffee, he ordered Anderson to hurry up with the latest forensic reports and a lowly constable ran out his office nearly in tears as he practically threw an armful of files at her ordering her to re-interview all witnesses. ‘Yes, I mean all 20 of them PC Gregson, thank you! And don’t forget to focus on the points Sherlock had raised earlier!’

Papers littered his desk, grizzly crime scene photos flash spatters of red blood and shredded pink skin but still, it was not really holding his attention. What the hell was that kiss earlier? What would he do next time he met Mycroft or Sherlock for that matter? That man could read him like a book, how was he going to keep quite his brother had thoroughly and erotically snogged him one a busy London street? Damn, damn and double damn.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose in weariness and glancing at the clock, Lestrade decided it was time to head home, perhaps catch the end of the football on TV or simply fall into bed and get an early start on the new leads on this case tomorrow. His flat was close enough to walk from work, so leaving his standard unmarked police vehicle parked at the Yard; he set off on foot into the cool night air.

Strolling idly down the road, dress shoes clicking softly on the pavement, Greg had the sneaking suspicion someone was watching him. He glanced around, peering through the darkness to see if he could catch a glimpse of anyone. Nothing.

Shrugging he continued walking. He suddenly heard the soft rolling noise of an engine behind him. The gentle hum stayed close to his ears, that car wasn’t overtaking him on the street. He glanced over his shoulder. A long black car was crawling slowly behind him, edging towards the pavement that he was walking on. Not quite a limo but certainly a very long black car, shiny and swanky looking he thought, its dark windows concealed the car’s occupants. It pulled to a halt just as Greg turned around to stare at it.

The driver’s side door opened and out popped a man in an honest to god chauffer’s uniform, complete with leather driving gloves and hat. The man himself was non-descript, clean, neat, probably mid 30’s, average looking. Even a D.I of Lestrade’s experience may hesitate to pick out such a face in a line up, even with the street lamps flooding the area with light.

The man called out, ‘Mr Lestrade?’

‘Hmmm.’

‘Gregory Lestrade?

Lestrade was hesitant, who was he and what his he want sneaking up behind him on the street late at night? ‘Um…yeah,’ he finally said cautiously.

‘Can you come with me please, Sir?’

Greg opened his mouth, a million questions wanting to flood out. He settled on ‘Why.’

‘Please, Sir. I have been asked to collect you and drive you personally myself.’

‘Drive me?... Now just wait a minute. Who instructed you and where are we going? And how the hell do you know who I am? Who the hell are you?’

The long, frustrating day had made his temper a little short. Normally he would not have been quite so rude to this man but he wasn’t about to apologise, he wanted answers and was not getting in a car with a stranger for no good reason.

‘Mr Holmes, Sir. Asked me to fetch you myself, make sure you were comfy and arrived safely. Pickens is my name, Sir, call me Tom.’ He flashed what Lestrade thought was an attempt at a winning and friendly smile, trying to get him on side but the man seemed a little bored as if he were asked to do this kind of thing every day.

Greg sighed inwardly. It had been a long day; he did not want to play any games. What the hell would Sherlock want with him? He always usually phoned or sent a text and what was with the flash car? Last time he had been ‘summoned’ by Holmes a black cab was the best he got to collect him from a rather enjoyable trip to the pub. He pulled his mobile out of his coat pocket and stared at it. No missed calls or new messages from Sherlock, or John for that matter.

Greg looked up from his phone hearing the soft click of a door. The driver had got back into the car, the vehicle now sitting waiting patiently, engine running. Evidently the driver was assured of Lestrade’s cooperation. He contemplated keeping walking and idly wondered if the car would tail him all the way home. Lestrade dialled Sherlock’s number on his phone. Busy. Damn that infuriating man!

Lestrade took a deep breath, counting to ten slowly. Eventually, with an air of resignation, he walked towards the car. The rear passenger door opened wide awaiting him. He stopped dead on the street and peered into the total darkness of the back of the car. He could see nothing there, no light illuminated the inside. Who had opened the door?

A small bead of sweat trailed from his hairline down the back of his neck. This was a little uncomfortable, something in this was not adding up. Greg leaned over further, again trying to peer into the back.

‘I don’t bite inspector,’ drawled a low voice from the darkness. Greg jumped slightly in shock. He heard a mischievous chuckle come from the blackness.

‘Mycroft you, you…arse!’

The deep chuckling continued.

‘You scared the wits out of me.’

‘My apologies. I would not have thought the cream of her Majesty’s Scotland Yard would be easy to…spook.’

Lestrade’s heart returned to a normal beating rhythm, he wondered if Sherlock would mind him strangling his brother… probably not, he mused.

‘Get in.’

Now that was far too much like a command Greg thought but slid into the darkness anyway, easing himself along a plush leather seat. As he moved he leather creaked under him releasing a new car fragrance all around him. Pulling the door closed behind him, once inside the back of the car it was illuminated gently from a small ceiling light, he glanced to his left to see Mycroft sitting ridged in the backseat neck to him.   
Mycroft leaned forward slightly and tapped the black partition with the end of his umbrella twice. This was clearly a signal to the driver as the vehicle pulled away from the side of the street and headed into the crowded, night-time London traffic.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Lestrade wondering why he was here and what this was all about, so he just came right out and asked.

‘So what’s with all the cloak and dagger stuff?’

‘Cloak and dagger…stuff?’ Mycroft enquired innocently back at him.

Greg sighed deeply; the older Holmes was being obtuse. He indicated to the dark car all around them and the driver in front. ‘So any particular reason you are following me home?’ His tone was becoming less friendly.

Mycroft silently reached into his suit jacket, pulling out a small A3 sized brown envelope and handed it wordlessly to Lestrade. He looked at it, a normal, generic envelope, no distinguishing marks or stamps of any kind. He weighted it in his palm. It was fairly heavy given its size. There was a lot of something in here.

Greg opened it up and pulled out a wad of papers that had been folded inside. Unfolding them, he quickly scanned the documents. Photos, black and white but also colour, what looked to be suspiciously like surveillance and CCTV stills. Documents, official looking reports with large sections blackened out hiding a few of the details, police interviews, forensic findings. He scanned the documents still puzzled as to what they were or why Mycroft was handing them to him. A few of the pictures caught his eye, they looked suspiciously like…liked his current crime scene pictures! His head shot up to glare at Mycroft. The man’s expression was unconcerned, almost bored.

The umbrella habitually twirling through his fingers as it rested on the floor of the car. He turned his head to stare back at the Detective.

‘Your assailant,’ he motioned to the top picture carelessly.

‘What?’ Greg practically growled.

Mycroft pursed his lips, raising an eyebrow at Lestrade’s tone and stony expression. He continued. ‘Victor Gregov. 58 years old. Ex-KGB agent now freelance thug and hit man for hire. Entered this country under an assumed name and with a forged passport last Saturday, presumably on some sort of job.’ He paused for dramatic emphasis.

Smug bastard Greg thought. He was just going to show off like Sherlock. He continued to glare. ’So’ it came out harsher than even he expected.

Mycroft rolled his eyes before tilting his head towards him bringing his fingers to his lips and shaking his head.

‘Entered the country for work-we are still looking into that by the way-but no doubt decided to have some fun while here. He fits the MO. Examples of his past work are in there, all the forensics and eye witness accounts you will ever need.’

Lestrade still looked over the documents slightly puzzled; too much information was being thrown at him at once.  
Mycroft snapped. ‘Really Gregory, Sherlock always claims you are much better than this. The best in Scotland Yard is what he said, I think. Although, given the quality of your colleagues I supposed it was too much to hope for.’

Lestrade looked back at the files in his hand. Sherlock really said he was the best. His chest swelled. Sherlock might be a bit of a twat but he was brilliant and although it was a slightly back handed compliment he must have thought he could do his job.

‘So this, this is the man we have been looking for. The bodies, it was him?’

Mycroft nodded once.

‘So-So all I need to do is arrest him. This is enough? Greg stared at the documents in hand. If it were true he was holing paper gold.

‘Oh you won’t be able to arrest him I’m afraid.’ The older Holmes commented casually.

Lestrade’s head snapped back towards him, ‘what?!’ He spluttered.

Holmes seemed to be intently studying invisible dirt under his finger nails. ‘Scotland Yard will not be arresting Mr Gregov.’

‘Just wait a minute. You just gave me everything I need to arrest him. What the hell not?’ Lestrade practically yelled at the older Holmes.

‘You have everything there you need, Gregory, to solve the case. No doubt in a few days Scotland Yard will recover the body of Mr Gregov and the case will be closed’

Lestrade was dumfounded. ‘The body? He is dead then.’

‘Not yet.’

‘Now you listen here…’ Greg was about to launch into a tirade. Mycroft casually raised his hands to halt the expletives from the other man’s mouth.

‘National security Inspector. Terrorist beat at the doors of the empire but as we shoot one another is always ready to take their place. It is his masters we want. Once he has outlived his usefulness and we have the information about why he is here, his network, his employer, then the poor Mr Gregov will no doubt have a nasty accident. Too much alcohol, a drunk falling off a bridge to be washed up in the Thames a few days later. Or an unfortunate hit and run perhaps…’

The D.I was astounded. This couldn’t be real. ‘This isn’t the movies Mycroft!’ He exclaimed finally, ‘you are not James Bond; you can’t just make people disappear!’

Mycroft raised a cynical eyebrow giving Greg a look that said plainly he was a naïve child. Lestrade opened his mouth only to close it again and slump back into the car seat. What else could he say? Who could he tell? Who would believe him if he started telling people he received evidence, late at night, from the back of a car and by a shadowy member of government who happened organised the death of enemy spy’s? He glanced out the window watching the bright lights of the city centre flash by, watching people running about their everyday lives, oblivious to all around them.

The older Holmes waived a hand dismissively at Lestrade’s silence. ‘You have your evidence and you will have a body within the next few days as more proof. Case solved, horrific butcher and murdered dead. Justice served, I believe.’

‘Justice?’ Greg said softly, still staring out the window, he turned slowly to face the man at the other side of the car with incredulity. ‘You think that justice for those victims, for their families?’

Mycroft’s expression gave nothing away. Cool grey eyes that looked so much like Sherlock’s fixed him with a searching, penetrating look. The Iceman. ‘It is the best we can do,’ his eyes never leaving Lestrade’s. Lestrade looked away first.

They didn’t understand, the Holmes brothers. They had no idea. ‘Caring is not an advantage’ Sherlock had once said to him. Would he be as brilliant as them if he didn’t care? Perhaps, perhaps not, but he wasn’t sure he would want to give that up for all the intellect in the world, to actually have connections to other people, to other living beings. Should a man that had seen all that he had seen, should someone not lie awake at night every so often for all those who had their lives snatched from them?

He glanced around. Mycroft was staring intently at him. He could feel his piercing gaze almost x ray-ing him. Mycroft opened his mouth as if to say something but Greg noted he closed it again before turning to face the front of the car.

‘You think me cold or unfeeling,’ he said finally.

‘Yeah.’

Holmes shrugged a small shake of shoulders that did not really mean anything. A normal person would have been bothered by that, Lestrade thought, or a normal person would have argued or defended themselves. Perhaps become angry at him. Mycroft said nothing. 

What was wrong with those two brothers, he wondered? No one was born this way, surely even cold blooded serial killers had something to blame; abusive mothers, drugs, alcohol, mental instability, daddy’s that raped them, but these two… gods he didn’t think he wanted to know. 

Lestrade wiggled the envelope in his hand, ‘err, thanks for this anyway,’ he said flatly. Mycroft bowed his head in Greg’s direction.

The silence in the car was becoming a tad uncomfortable, the D.I just realised they had been driving for a while and he had no clue where they were going. He had thought that he might have been taken home. There was also that rather…unusual incident from this morning. Greg wondered if he should, or even if he could, work up the nerve to enquire about it.

‘Um, where are we going,’ Lestrade finally asked, directing his question more to the car in general than the man beside him.

‘Home,’ was Mycroft’s slightly cryptic reply. 

Home? Staring out the window, Greg didn’t think they were anywhere near his home.

‘Um, so, this morning…’ he trailed off, how could he word this delicately?

‘Hmmm?’ Mycroft was back twirling the umbrella at his side.

‘Err, o-outside Sherlock’s flat…’ The older man raised an inquisitive eyebrow staying silent as Lestrade trailed off again. 

Damn that man he was going to make him say it. Greg gritted his teeth ‘youkissedme!’ He blurted out quickly and in a jumble of words, he could feel colour rising on the back of his neck as he did so.

Mycroft smiled slightly, a small quirk of lips, a glint of teasing in his eyes.

‘I did.’

‘Why?’

The older Holmes seemed to mull it over; he was back examining those perfectly manicured fingers. ‘Because I wanted to and I like you.’

‘You…you l-like me,’ Greg said puzzled. 

Mycroft sighed. His tone was perfectly flat and even as he said matter of factly- 

‘Like you as in find you sexually attractive. Like you as in wanting to kiss you, spank you, bend you over my desk, have you in my bed, fuck you, possess you, cuddle you or have you on your knees sucking my cock. That kind of ‘like’. Clear enough Inspector? Good enough explanation for you Inspector?’

Lestrade spluttered, his face turned scarlet. He glanced at the stiff and formal man sitting beside him uttering such explicit obscenities, who seemed unperturbed by his brutal honesty. He blushed darkly; glad for the dim of the back of the car at Mycroft thinking he was attractive. He didn’t know if he was entirely comfortable with another man commenting on him the way he would comment on a woman.  
Mycroft merely crossed his legs and sat looking at Lestrade drumming his fingers on the leather seat, umbrella now resting beside him against the seat.

‘Er, well that’s…that’s er,’ Lesrade tumbled over his words, stuttering like a school boy. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? What could he say? Thanks seemed…out of place. He sat blushing furiously in the back of Mycroft’s car, unable to say anything and not quite knowing what to say.

His captive was looking at him, studying his face; he could see those grey-skied eyes raking over his features. Mycroft had turned in his seat, one knew raised onto it slightly, one arm relaxed over the back of the seat as he faced him side on. Lestrade stared ahead; sneaking small, superfluous glances at him every so often. Without warning, Mycroft slid across the back seat, his tall frame uncoiling like a cat. Before Greg could say anything the warm line the man’s body was pressed to his side, the hand that had been resting on the back of the seat gently stroked the side his neck, just behind his ear. All the hairs on Greg’s neck were standing to attention from this man’s touch; a shiver ran down the length of his spin as lestrade jumped at the contact.

Mycroft’s face was inches from his own, he gently raised his other hand to grip the D.I’s jaw, turning his head towards him. Greg looked into those cold eyes but saw a spark of fire, warmth there that a small voice started telling him it was only lust. Mycroft made it perfectly clear what he wanted from him.

Greg’s mind rallied. Could he do it? Could he do this? Could he let Mycroft kiss him again? Granted the earlier kiss had been…interesting, quite pleasurable once the shock had subsided, certainly different from anything he had had before, lips and skin just a little firmer, the slight scrap of stubble, the smell of some spicy and exotic after shave assaulting his senses. But it was foreign to him, everything seemed strange and out of place, his mind buzzed, small protesting voices were gearing up in the back of his head…but what about sex. If they were to…he would have to put his cock in… No, no, he couldn’t do it, no way. He was about to open his mouth to protest when Mycroft’s lips came crashing down on his, one hand cupping his jaw while the other stroked his neck.

It was an experienced, practiced kiss; Greg closed his eyes to the sensation of the firmness against him. A wet tongue darted out to lick along his lips as Mycroft persistent and demanding entrance. As Greg sighed his lips parted, in which the older Holmes seized his opportunity, sliding his tongue into his mouth to gently caress Lestrade’s tongue with his own. 

He couldn’t, not respond, his tongue dancing along the other mans, returning the gentle probing, Lestrade could not stop a small moan escape his lips, muffed by Mycroft’s mouth. Greg gasped for air as Mycroft drew back and instead began kissing along his cheek, down his jawline until he reached his neck. The older Holmes found a particularly sensitive spot just behind his ear, the man’s larger nose nestled in the nape of his neck, buried in Lestrade’s hair as he sucked gently on the spot before biting down firmly and then soothing with laps from his moist tongue.

His breathing laboured, Greg’s whole body shivered as Holmes drew away from him, retreating slightly back to his own side of the seat. He smirked at him, ‘well now, that wasn’t so bad now was it?’

Lestrade did not trust his own treacherous mouth and simply shook his head ever so slightly, certainly having mixed feelings about the huge pang of arousal the kiss had sparked in his body. He watched fascinated now at Mycroft’s long lean fingers drumming gently on the soft leather seat, delighting at their touch and wondering what other sensations they could bring out in him when suddenly the car came to a smooth stop.  
The door at Mycroft’s side opened, Lestrade could just make out Tom at the entrance holding it open. Holmes gracefully exited the car with all the natural poise of a dancer while Greg sat at the far side wondering what was going on. After a pause of indecision he saw Mycroft’s face appear at the car door, he bend over peering at the man inside before cocking his finger in his direction, indication Lestrade should follow.  
Greg gulped, the uneasiness in his stomach mixing with guilt and arousal was creating butterflies so big he could swear they were about to break free from his body at any moment. He gingerly slid across the seat to the open door, exiting with much less grace than his host. 

He looked up at the large town house in front of him. Stylish on the outside, very expensive looking he noted, as Tom closed the car door behind him with a soft thunk.

‘My house.’ Mycroft commented, and without a backward glance, he headed up the front stairs towards the door. Tom had retreated back into the driver’s seat and started the engine; evidently he was leaving to park the car. Greg wondered if he could just escape and perhaps get him to drive him home. 

As he made to follow Mycroft with trepidation, Greg casually glanced back towards the opposite side of the road. Just a little way down the street to the left he saw it. Oh holy hell, no fucking way, he thought. A familiar black door with a brass No 10 met his gaze. He turned speechless back to the man who was now opening the door of the home in front of them. He jogged up the stairs.

‘You live here?!’ He exclaimed on the threshold. Mycroft simply cocked his head to the side and made a sweeping gesture with his arm, indicating he should come inside.

Greg took a deep breath and stepped inside a light and spacious hallway. The door closed behind him with a kind of finality. He had the distinct impression he had allowed himself to be led into the trap.  
Mycroft removed his coat; Lestrade swallowed a gulp, fascinated as he watched each button of his long, dark woollen coat snapping open. Holmes carefully and meticulously hung it and his umbrella on a dark mahogany coat stand that was sitting just off the doorway. He turned and held a hand out to Greg who quickly removed his own coat, noticing it looked distinctly more rumpled than Mycroft’s. Greg wondered when the last time was he washed it. He felt a little bad at handing his garment to the sterile man before him but Mycroft said nothing about the condition of his clothing and simply hung Greg’s jacket next to his own, but he did notice that Mycroft smoothed it down with his hands, folding in any loose edges. He filed away the older Holmes obvious OCD as information he may need later.

Mycroft turned and sauntered further down the hallway coming to a large room with a huge white marble fire place. An ornate gold mirror hung above it almost taking up the entire wall and reflecting back both men when they entered. Two large, fluffy sofas stood facing one another near the fire place, delicate gold braided cushions scattered across them and a glass coffee table standing between them.

Mycroft indicated to a seat. ‘Make yourself comfortable Gregory’ he said smoothly. ‘May I get you a drink?’

‘Err, yes please’. He replied as the older man retreated out the door. Lestrade gazed round the room. This was a very swanky place, he mused. Expensive, tastefully decorated by someone with much better wages and a general degree more class than he knew he had. He was willing to bet that the rest of this place was equally as impressive but he also noted an absence of any kind of personal touched. How long had Mycroft lived here? Lestrade wasn’t sure but would guess that he had not just moved in.

Although beautiful, the room had the impression of being too showy, as if everything had been placed exactly so and picked simply for decorative purpose. There were no small tokens of fun or memorabilia to indicate the person that lived here. The pictures on the walls were paintings, landscapes, no people at all. If Mycroft had a family then no pictures of them adorned his walls, not even an image of Sherlock could be found.

Greg perched on the edge of a couch with unease. He felt as if he were dirtying the clean expanse of this place simply by being in the room.

Holmes returned with an elegant crystal wine glass containing a deep red liquid. He held one out to Lestrade while sipping from another himself. Greg took it the offered glass. Wine was not really his thing. He knew nothing about them and all the ones he tried he had not liked the taste of much, red or white didn’t matter. He took a polite sip anyway so as to not offend his host. Yep, still tasted like vinegar.  
He didn’t know if something on his face had indicated his dislike but the older Holmes let out a long suffering sigh through his nose before plucking the glass back out of Greg’s grip and retreated out the living room door. Greg squirmed inwardly wondering if he had offended and not meaning to, or if Mycroft would be kicking him out his home any time soon. The man returned and handed him an ice cold bottle of beer. Now this was more his kind of drink. Mycroft also handed him a beer glass and a napkin just as he was about to bring the bottle top to his lips and simply drink it straight. He noted Mycroft was looking at him with the clear indication he thought him a heathen.

Greg causally threw the napkin on the table and filled his glass with the beer. He placed the bottle onto of the napkin and sat back taking a long drink from his glass. It tasted good. As Lestrade drank he noticed Mycroft casually lean over and straightened the napkin so that it was aligned square with the table. He grinned inwardly. Oh this was going to be fun. He was going to make it his mission to see how much he could torture the man before him.

As Lestrade leaned forward to place his beer on the table he gentle nudged the bottle and napkin, sending it sliding around and out of place, trying to make it look like an accident. His eyes darted up to the man opposite him. Mycroft had a distinctly cross look on his face as he folded his arms and nibbled his lip. He had not bought it as an accident for one minute and leaned over to straighten it again. Lestrade smiled and chuckled a little at his obvious anger at such a small thing. How could this man kiss him without warning in a public street and practically accost him in the back seat of a car yet worry about whether his napkin was straight?

‘You can get help for that you know,’ he grinned at the older man.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. ‘You are not amusing.’ Greg only grinned wider at Mycroft’s huffiness. He felt encouraged by the fact the man before him was not as pristine and prefect as he seemed so found himself blurting out before he could think on what he was saying.

‘You have a serious problem with order, precision and cleanliness, how can you do that being the way you are?’

‘Do what?’

‘Kiss me, say that you wanted to have sex with me, I assume you are no virgin and know how messy sexy can be.’

Mycroft gave a predatory grin. ‘I do know.’

Lestrade swallowed; maybe reminding him hadn’t been such a good idea. Mycroft rose from the couch in a boneless movement, as if invisible strings pulled him upwards. He stalked around the table to the same couch Greg was sitting on; he held his breath as Holmes eased himself down beside him, the line of his thigh resting against his own, and his body turned slightly towards him.

‘Sex is…different,’ it was almost a purr. ‘I like order. Cleanliness. Because I can have things the way I want them I make it so. Intimacy with someone else though…you have to make allowances. You can’t just take what you want and give nothing in return.’ As he talked his fingers massaged through the hair on the back of Lestrade’s neck, making his eyes flutter closed at the sensations. Mycroft leaned in, hot breath whispering in his ear ‘if you want the maximum amount of…pleasure, then you cannot always have control, discipline, order…’

His lips nibbled his earlobe; Greg squeaked and regretted his girlish outburst as his host kissed down the lobe, tongue flicking out to lick the sensitive skin, he squirmed slightly, pulling away. Mycroft smiled, ‘ticklish?’ Lestrade shot him a look which only made the older Holmes smirk wider.

He cupped his cheek and pulled his face towards him, lips touching briefly, a ghost of a kiss playing along his slightly parted lips, Mycroft kissed to the corners tickling him again and causing Greg to laugh and his lips twitch. As Lestrade turned to gain a better position, Mycroft pushed forwards slightly bringing his lips down harder, intensifying the kiss and leaning his warm body against Lestrade’s own. As Greg braced a hand against his chest, he found that Holmes’s hand had sneaked under his suit jacket and was caressing along his side, gently kneading the flesh there. He could feel the warmth of his hands through his cotton shirt as delicate fingers skimmed lower, grabbing a hip and manoeuvring them into a different position.

So intent was he on the feeling of his lips against his, Greg didn’t realise how he had got into his position, time had moved to fast, his mind had not caught up with his body’s actions. He had no idea how he ended up sprawled on Mycroft’s couch, the taller man caressing his sides with strong hands, nibbling at his neck and straddling his thighs but all he knew was suddenly he opened his eyes and was staring up at the ceiling and the most delicious sensations were travelling down his body, he glanced down to see the top of Mycroft’s head as his mouth worked on his neck, his jaw line, that little sensitive spot just behind his ear that was currently being sucked… oh g-gods! His back was arching and he felt ashamed his body was bucking up to rub against the source of his pleasure.

Mycroft sat up, leaning only slightly backwards and staring down at the D.I panting and prone on his couch with hooded, lust filled eyes. The trademark smirk was in place, he still sat on Lestrade's thighs, legs entwined with his own. Greg watched his arms flex as he reached to remove his dark pinstriped jacket, laying it across the back of the couch. He could only look on in silence as Mycroft’s hands reached down to remove his tie before placing it with his own jacket. 

He pounced again, covering Lestrade’s body with his own, fingers loosening delicately, the top few buttons of his shirt now that the tie was gone; Lestrade reached out to caress the older man’s back, feeling shoulders bunch and tense under his splayed fingers as Mycroft’s ministrations returned to his neck, nibbling and biting down to his collar bone.

Greg was vaguely aware of a presence digging into his hip, as his brain processed exactly what that was he must have tensed as Holmes suddenly stopped what he was doing and sat up to peer down at the man before him, noticing he would not meet his gaze and the terrible blush starting from his hair line all the way down his neck.

‘I won’t hurt you.’ Mycroft said delicately as if he feared loud noises may result in him bounding off like a frightened deer. ‘Do you wish to continue?’

Greg paused for a moment, focusing somewhere between the third and fourth button of Mycroft’s waistcoat trying to make his decision and not having the nerve to look the man in the face. Did he want to continue? This was certainly…pleasurable, those kisses were, were…he didn’t have words. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this aroused but this was different. He had been married once upon a time for heaven’s sake, to a woman! Surely that meant that this was not for him?

He licked his lips considering, he was…curious, certainly and had enjoying the sensations Mycroft was producing within in, he could keep going and if he balked later on… well, he was sure he could still walk away perhaps a little later, after a little more…exploring.

He glanced up at the waiting man above him, a slight raise to his eyebrow awaiting an answer. His conscience began bothering him. Could he do that to him? Would it be fair to let this go on but find out later he couldn’t go through with it and walk away? He decided, for now, to jump in with both feet and gave a slight nod of his head, barely any movement at all, afraid at his own daring. 

He was shocked to find Holmes quickly rise to his feet beside the couch. He reached down, grabbed his hand and pulled slightly bringing Greg to his feet beside him. Standing toe to toe, Greg noticed that he was a few good inches shorter than the man but Mycroft was also a lot leaner in physique, giving the impression of being much taller.

He pulled on Greg’s hand, leading him like a child out the living room and began to ascend the stairs they had passed in the hall. As they passed shelves and ornaments and doorways to other rooms Lestrade quickly glanced around, trying to see the rest of the house and memorise his way out. They stopped at a heavy whitewashed wooden door; Mycroft turned the ornate gold handle pushing it wide.

Lestrade's stomach hit the floor. A bedroom. He peered in the doorway but did not get much of a chance to ponder as his host strode in, pulling on his hand. He wondered if this was Mycroft’s bedroom, just like the rest of the house, no personal decorations could be found.

It was a nice room, clean, cream walls with a delicate but expensive looking floral wall paper. A few furnishings littered the room, a few paintings that matched the décor perfectly. In the centre of the room stood a large four poster bed. Lestrade gulped. Mycroft’s bed the thought. He didn’t know how to describe it but he was betting this thing was bigger than king-size. A near deep burgundy bedspread covered impeccably pressed white sheets. Pillows stood to attention against the headboard and a matching thrown was folded in an artistic way at the foot. Above the bed was a frame containing a landscape that Greg knew must be a real place but didn’t know quite where.

Mycroft had stood still beside him as Greg had surveyed the room. He had said nothing and when the D.I turned back to look at him he was gazing out a tiny crack in the heavy burgundy drapes to the dark night sky. He did not look as if he was expecting comment or Lestrade’s approval on his home.

‘Er... very nice,’ Greg said as he indicated the room with a movement of his head. Mycroft seemed to be snapped out of some sort of revive. He gave a sardonic smile and shook his head slightly before pulling Lestrade towards him, he tilted his head downwards to reach the younger man’s lips as his hands came to Lestrade's hips and he began gently walking them backwards. Greg was caught off balance as the back of his knees hit the bed and he fell backwards on top the bedspread. Mycroft did not leg go and followed him down onto it, with Greg giving a soft ‘oomph’ as he hit the mattress and the weight on the older Holmes landed on him.

Mycroft’s kisses were more frantic, harsher than those downstairs, much more like the possessing insolent kiss he had given him on Baker Street. His hands reached up to shrug Greg out of his jacket and he raised his body slightly to help slide it off. It was quickly discarded onto the floor beside the bed. Holmes’s deft hands were soon popping the buttons on Greg’s shirt, who shivered slightly as cooler air danced along his bare chest. Mycroft gave a small tug as the shirt was un-tucked from his trousers and pulled open before kissing his way down the younger man’s body.

Lestrade raised himself up on his elbows to watch the auburn head trail across his torso. Mycroft was certainly skilled with his mouth as he sucked and licked down Greg’s neck and chest until he came to one flat male nipple and closed his mouth around it. He couldn’t help but moan as Holmes’s teeth grazed it ever so slightly before gently tugging, then soothing it with small laps of his tongue. His head skirted sideways to pay the same attention to the other before continuing its course south, nose brushing delicately through the hair on his chest.

Greg couldn’t help the small twitch in his hardening cock as the older Holmes pushed his tongue into his navel swirling it around the edge and plunging back in. He tensed as Mycroft came to the waist band of his trousers, black belt securely fastened and watched in continuing anticipation as Holmes gently kiss along the line of the belt along to one hip, nipping playfully at it, hands kneading his sides, running delicately over his chest and upper torso.

Lestrade gave a soft sigh at the loss of lips and heat from his body as Mycroft sat up on the bed. He gazed up as the man above him began to undo his own waistcoat and tie. Holmes discarded the items onto the floor beside Lestrade’s and un-tucked his own shirt. Greg caught an exciting glimpse of tummy flesh before the shirt dropped back down. Evidently, his host was not removing his own shirt yet.  
Mycroft reached out to pluck at Greg’s belt, undoing the buckle before sliding it through the loops, his fingers deftly unsnapped the buttons before sliding his fly down sensuously slowly, eyes following the zipped from top to bottom. Greg squirmed under the lustful gaze of the man above him as he grabbed the fabric and gently tugged, forcing him to raise his hips off the bed slightly to allow them to be wriggled down and off.

The D.I had to close his eyes and rested his head back down on the bed focusing on the ceiling. Even he could see how hard he was. His erection tenting the boxers in front of him. Lestrade bit his tongue, fighting back the embarrassment that was threatening to tell Mycroft he wanted to stop. He flinched slightly as the bed moved under Holmes’s shifting weight and firm, strong hands were at his hips massaging along the lines of his boxers. A warm soft mouth was following their movement just along the line of his hips. 

Someone was moaning softly and Greg realised it was him as Holmes kisses and tongue occasional dipped ever so slightly below the waist line of the boxers. He fought the urge to push himself against Mycroft with every passing brush of cloth against his erection. He suddenly felt hands grab at either side of his hips and his eyes snapped open as Mycroft attempted to take them off. 

Greg didn’t raise his hips to help, a forming panic that he would now be naked and exposed before another man flooding his mind. Was he ready for this? He blushed as Mycroft pulled the fabric down to discard the undergarment on the floor with the other clothing as his erection sprung free of its final confinement. All he had on now was an open shirt framing his torso.

‘Comfy?’

His eyes shot up to the man above him, Mycroft was silent laughing at him, noting his increasing discomfort. Greg opened his mouth and closed it not quite trusting himself. Mycroft s body suddenly covered his own, the weight pushing him further into the bed as he was kissed deeply. Lestrade gasped as his hardened cock slid across the front of Mycroft’s shirt, pushing it back against his belly, the friction of the fabric creating delicious sensations down his body. He bucked his hips more as the older Holmes did the same, his own hips digging into him so that Greg could feel Mycroft was equally as hard and ready above him.  
A hand sneaked down his torso, rubbing gently, caressing as it went, until it squirmed between their bodies. Lestrade gasped and bit Mycroft’s lip as a warm hand enclosed around his erection without warning. He broke away from the kiss to bury his face in Holmes’s neck the man’s hand pumped ever so slightly, gently moving the foreskin back and forwards on his cock. He couldn’t help jerk his hips more at the wonderful sensation, fisting the back of Mycroft’s shirt as he practically jerked himself off in the other man’s fist. Greg flopped back on the bed as Mycroft pulled away, still slightly caressing his member with his hands, fingertips moving to gently cup his balls, rolling them in his palm before moving back up to squeeze the shaft until Lestrade cried out in pleasure.

Mycroft leaned out the bed slightly to open a drawer on the bedside table; Lestrade squinted over to see what he was doing, eager for hands to be back on him again.  
He laid two items on the bed. A bottle of clear, oily looking liquid, perhaps a lubricant or some sort of massage oil Greg mused and a deep-purple silicon object a few inches in length that had the same shape as, as...his body clenched. That was some sort of toy and dawning realisation of what Mycroft planned to do unnerve him.

As the man came back to face him he raised a questioning eyebrow at the DI’s obvious panic.

‘Problem?’ Holmes enquired.

‘You are not putting that dildo in my arse!’ Lestrade exclaimed.

Mycroft’s lips twitched in amusement at Greg’s bluntness. He rolled his eyes. ‘It is just to get started, to prepare you; I cannot just as well stick my cock into you.’

‘Why not?’ Greg flushed realising what he had said, he didn’t want to sound eager to have Mycroft bugger him. ‘Er, that sounded wrong. I mean, er, is that not the point of all…this.’ He indicated to the state of their undress.

Mycroft snorted, amused by his bumbling embarrassment. He picked up the object, caressing it through his fingers, wiggling and bending it slightly to show off it’s supplely and softness to Lestrade.

‘Since, I assume from your behaviour, you have not done this before-‘

‘I have!’ Lestrade shot.

The older man sighed and pinched his nose. ‘I did not mean sex in general you imbecile, I would be surprised if you had gotten to this age and not had any experience, well’, he mused, ‘there is Sherlock but he is a special case.’

Greg spluttered, he had always wondered if that man could have…he was about to raise the issue with Mycroft but he shot him a warning look and continued with his own train of thought.

‘I meant with another man Gregory. If I were simply to bend you over and ravish that…delectable backside, you may not be in the mood to try it again. This-‘he raised the small dildo, ‘is to get you used to having something in there.’

Lestrade gulped. What had he gotten himself into?

Holmes laid the object delicately on the bed beside Greg’s hip who watched it as if it were a snake that would suddenly bite without warning. Mycroft came back towards the bed and kneeling just above him, grabbed the bottle of oil and squeezed a generous amount into the palm of his hand. Greg sniffed. He could smell…chocolate? He watched fascinated as Mycroft gently rubbed the oil slowly and sensuously, along his fingers, almost as if he was massaging it into his skin. A hand reached out to caress the very tip of Greg’s cock, which jumped in response to the caress.

The lubricated hands began roaming over his groin, creating wonderful sensations as they slipped and slide over his flesh. The older Holmes gently worked the oil along his cock, tickling along the shaft with the tips of his fingers until lestrade bucked eager for more sensation, before changing and palming him order to firmly squeeze the swollen flesh.

Lestrade sighed, relaxing back into the bed as Mycroft masturbated him with oiled hands; he felt a hand slide down to his balls, ensuring they too were coated with the substance. He opened his eyes and looked down as he felt a shift in the bed, Mycroft had lain down, positioning himself between the D.I’s spread legs; face mere inches from his cock. Greg watched down the line of his body as he sucked the tip of his cock into his mouth. He gasped, a hissing of breath through his teeth as a soft tongue gently played with the underside of the head, swirling the tip before sucking down the shaft as far as he could go. One hand cupped his balls, rolling them delicately though his palm, as his mouth worked on his cock. 

Mycroft squeezed more chocolate flavoured lubricant into his hands as he began to probe fingers along the other man’s perineum, delighting in Greg’s moans of pleasure and the wild buck of hips as he worked the sensitive spot. His slippery fingers came to the D.I’s ass, he skimmed the area gently but still fell the man below him tense in fear despite the pleasure he was enticing in his cock. He continued using his mouth to pleasure him as his fingers gently caressed his opening, massaging the puckered skin, coating it liberally with oil. 

He smirked inwardly as Lestrade mouthed a protest when his warm mouth withdrew from his erection. Mycroft picked up the dildo massaging it through his hands to ensure it was covered in lubricant. The man below him watched his every movement, preparing for what was to come next with slight nervous anticipation. Mycroft took pity on him, squirting more lubricant onto the item until the thing was practically dripping in it as he brought it down towards him. He returned his mouth to Lestrade’s cock, lapping at it with his tongue, varying the speed and pressure of his sucking as he gently massaged the tip of the toy at the younger man’s opening.

Mycroft gently flexed his writs; the tip of the dildo sliding gently passed the tight ring of muscle. He stilled after only a few centimetres as he heard Greg hiss above him, unsure of this new intrusion, not doubt finding it uncomfortable and foreign. Greg’s hips wiggled again but he shouldn’t have done that. The movement only resulted in the object sinking deeper. He picked up the pace on his cock as he slid the toy home as deep as it would go, it was not particularly big and was for inexperienced users so felt it should not be too bad on the Inspector.

Lestrade bucked his hips. This was a new sensation he though. As Mycroft had rimmed the area with his fingers he had found an unexpected pleasure pooling in his groin, the gentle caressing relaxing him while Holmes skilled mouth worked wonders on his cock. But when he had produced the dildo, well Greg wasn’t entirely sure about that. It has felt cool and odd against his ass and when it slid into him the tension in him had caused discomfort and a little pain. He had nearly cried out as he realised his wriggling had only resulted in pulling it deeper into his tight hole. Greg was pleased to find it a little easier as it had passed the tight ring of muscle at his entrance and as Mycroft sunk the whole of it into him. He didn’t know quite how to describe it. Lestrade could certainly feel it, every small movement causing the object to push against his inner walls, push against parts of him that nothing had ever done before.

As the older man used his mouth on his hard, straining cock he could also feel him twist the object, pushing it slightly with his fingers. Greg realised he was causing it to wiggle more inside him sending unusual sensations through the lower part of his body timing the thrusting of the object in his ass with the bobbing of his head on his cock.

An odd feeling seized him as Mycroft gripped the base of the dildo and pulled it slowly out. Lestrade’s muscles contracted, fighting the removal, pleasure filling the lower half of his body at the movement. The toy withdrew from inside him with a small wet pop and his muscles quivered at the loss. 

The older Holmes sat up in the bed kneeling over him. He reached down sliding the open shirt off him, helping draw his arms out as he laid playful kisses across his shoulders and exposed skin. Greg was well aware he was now naked, whilst Mycroft was still almost fully clothed. He flushed looking down at himself, his body splayed wantonly before the man, his ass could still feel the sensation of being stretched and his cock erect, lying against his stomach was wet and slick from both Mycroft’s mouth and the lubricant he had used to pleasure him.

Holmes stood at the end of the bed as Greg watched him pop the buttons of his own shirt. He sat up on the bed reaching out and looking to help. Mycroft dropped his hands back at his sides, amused by his change of heart and sudden bold enthusiasm.

Lestrade worked the buttons until the entire shirt hung open and loose; he could see flashes of creamy porcelain skin underneath and a small smattering of auburn chest hair, a line of which he saw trailed from Mycroft navel into the top of his trousers. As Holmes tugged his shoulders out the shirt, letting it fall to the floor, Greg began working on the belt, loosening it enough to let him gain access to the zipper underneath. He jumped slightly as the trousers slid down Mycroft’s hips, allowing his erection to spring out. 

God, he though, he had nothing under his trousers! Evidently the older Holmes went commando under his suit. Greg wondered if that was always the case or just today, since he had been so intent on seducing him. He had an image of the well dressed, powerful and prim Mycroft sitting in some meeting with the Prime Minister, secretly laughing that he had nothing on and only his thin suit trousers separated his backside from the seat. 

Greg was brought back from his amusement as Mycroft’s cock twitched mere inches from his face. The trousers were kicked off into a pool on the floor somewhere near the rest of the superfluous clothing.  
Lestrade wondered what he should do, face to face with an impressive hard on was new to him. Should he perhaps return the favour? Whatever he was about to do was thwarted as he felt Mycroft’s hands grip is shoulders, pushing him slightly and firmly indicating he should lie back down on the bed. Greg complied, flopping back on the soft mattress.

The older man’s body slid against him as he followed on top, kissing him, allowing his tongue to invade his mouth, licking and dancing with his own. Mycroft’s hands roamed over Greg’s body, stroking his sides, his chest, as he rubbed his erection along him, grinding his hips into his and leaving small wet trails of pre cum along his bare skin.

Mycroft gently turned Lestrade until he was facing away from him and wrapped his arms around the younger man’s chest and waist, pulling him backwards until Greg’s back was flush along the front of his body. Greg moaned and bucked on the bed as hands wandered over his skin, squeezing delicate bits of flesh, rubbing, caressing. He giggled slightly as Holmes found a ticklish bit as his side and stroked softly. He squirmed away from his teasing but felt teeth sink into his shoulder as Mycroft nibbled along his neck line and shoulders, bestowing small wet kisses on his skin. 

Holmes reached over for the bottle of lubricant and Greg instinctively knew this was it. He had pretty much decided there was no going back. He was about to have sex for the first time, with another man.  
He felt Mycroft flex as he rubbed the oil on his own member, smearing it across the heated flesh and he braced for what was to come only to find gentle fingers rubbing the slickness between the cleft of his ass. Supple fingers caressed his ass, area circling his hole before one long digit slipped gently into him. Greg’s breath hitched, this was much different from a solid cold object. Mycroft’s warm finger flexed and probed within him, pressing, rubbing along his inner walls sending delicious shivers through his body. A second digit soon followed and Lestrade pushed backwards trying to impale himself more on the older man’s hand.  
Holmes scissored his fingers, pulling Greg more open, letting his body get used to being invaded in such an unusual place as he simultaneously pulled him into his lap, both fingers continued their exploration, making sure he was slick and ready while his other hand snaked around to rub his cock.

The fingers withdrew and Lestrade felt a little disappointment at their loss. Mycroft continued slowly working his hard cock, his free hand now grabbing Greg’s hip, angling him just so. He felt something much larger than a finger press against him. Mycroft was sliding against him, slipping due to the oil as he rubbed himself through the cheeks of his ass. He could hear heavier, faster breathing behind him, Mycroft was clearly enjoying himself.

Holmes pulled Lestrade as close as he could, flushing his body against his while his lips and teeth assaulted his neck and shoulders. He flexed his hips slightly pushing the tip of his cock against Greg’s opening before forcing himself entirely into his body. Good lord that was tight, he thought.

Lestrade took a deep breath as the tip of Mycroft cock entered, stretching him much more than he had before. Nothing had been enough in preparation for this. He drew in a shaky breath. It wasn’t going to fit, surely.

Mycroft slid home, all the way into him until he could feel the older man's ball rested against him. Greg tried to squirm away at the uncomfortable new sensation but Mycroft’s arms tightened around his hips and chest keeping him from moving.

‘Relax’ he purred in his ear, lips tickling it. ‘No amount of lubricant is going to help if you tense up so much’. He heard Mycroft let out a small moan in his ear as his inner muscles instinctively tightened despite his warning.

‘Gregory!’ he warned. His voice sounded strained, fighting against the glorious tightness of the man and nearly coming on the spot.

Lestrade closed his eyes and willed himself to relax. It wasn’t completely unpleasant, just…different. The lubricant and Mycroft’s ministrations had done their job at easing and softening the area.  
After a few moments, Holmes began to flex his hips, drawing back only slightly before thrusting forward his hand timed his thrusts with gentle stroking of the D.I’s cock. His hand and hips working in conjunction as he increased the pace pushing into Lestrade a little firmer and deeper every time. Soon, instead of shallow thrusting his body slapped into his, bucking Greg’s body with every violent thrust, expert hands gripping his cock firmly while the other pulled his hip.

Mycroft scooted himself up the bed slightly, angling his hips down as he continued thrusting into the other man, searching for just the right spot to hit with his hand furiously pumping his cock to bring him to climax.

Greg could hear a low growling from Mycroft’s throat but he also could feel it reverberating in the chest that was pressed to his back, he didn’t know why Mycroft was moving around so much until a bolt of intense pleasure shots straight through him. Mycroft angled just so, that with every thrust his cock worked over that small sweet spot inside him, creating an intense building pressure low in his groin. Greg had the unusual sensation that he needed to pee until the tightness released and a wave of pleasure engulfed him. The older Holmes hand continued to pump Lestrade’s cock as he came, squirting cum into his hand and up onto his own stomach, his legs quivering in pleasure, his whole lower body tight as a spring, twitching from his release . 

Holmes removed his hand from Lestrade's softening cock as he shifted their position. Never pulling out of him, Greg found himself faced down the bed, ass in the air, the older man kneeling behind his raised hips as he gripped them and thrust more firmly than before.

Greg gasped; this was a much sharper angle. The man behind him felt much bigger this way, he felt as if Mycroft was delving into his ass deeper with every thrust. The oil and his own orgasm had loosened him and Holmes slid back and forward with ease, but his body was still not quite used to such abuse. Lestrade bit into a pillow, muffling his cries as Mycroft’s tempo increased, finger tips digging painfully into his hips, rocking the younger man’s body violently forward into the bed.

He heard a grunt above him as Mycroft stilled after a particularly forceful thrust; he felt warmth flood him as Holmes leaned over to kiss his head, his neck, his back, any part he could reach before flopping down on the bed. Mycroft rested on his side pulling Greg along with him as he spooned him, both men breathing deeply as Mycroft buried his nose into his hair, with a small movement his softening cock slide out of him with a wet pop and he felt a small amount of warm, sticky cum leak onto the bed at their side.

Lestrade was beginning to doze, warm and comfy and being held by the older Holmes he had just had a pretty intense orgasm and was exhausted.

‘Wow,’ he murmured. Mycroft chuckled and kissed the back of his neck.

‘Better than you were expecting, Gregory?’

‘That was pretty amazing.’

‘You flatter me.’ He said nonchalantly. Greg turned slightly, looking over his shoulder to see Mycroft smirking at him. Smug bastard he thought. The older Holmes snuggled closer, legs intertwining with his as they lay on the bed recovering from their exertions.

Lestrade didn’t know how long they had been like that. He must have dozed on and off, perhaps Mycroft had too but he was soon brought fully away with shifting weight on the bed behind him. He turned in time to see Mycroft’s bare ass disappear into a side room.

He lay on the bed and soon heard water running in the distance. Must be an ensuite bathroom he mused. Holmes appeared back at the doorway staring at the man on the bed, unselfconsciously nude. Greg studied him standing there, all thin and pale and angular lines. Lean hips, a small smattering of auburn hair matching his head on his chest and around his cock, he did notice and ever so slight bulge in tummy from his yoyo dieting. Sherlock was always making fun of Mycroft’s weight but Greg mused that man was thinner than he was. Leaner too, long arms and legs made him seem impossibly tall, Greg looked down at his own body, and he was broader, more solid.

‘We should shower,’ a voice said from the doorway. Greg thought that sounded awful like a command. He sighed. He really didn’t want to move but he supposed, after what they had just done…he couldn’t help but flush again. He threw his arm over his eyes hiding his face. He had just had sex with another man. Mycroft Holmes no less. How was he going to look Sherlock in the eye?

‘Don’t worry,’ Mycroft drawled. ‘My brother may be brilliant but he lacks understanding of the basics of relationships. Sex alarms him. I doubt he will catch on.’

Greg started at him. How did he know what was worrying him. God, another one that could read minds. Sleeping with a Holmes had been a bad idea, he knew it!

He glanced over at the man in the doorway; Mycroft wiggled his fingers beckoning him to him.

Sighing Greg moved to get off the bed. He groaned as his body protested. His abdominal muscles cramped, his legs felt like jelly and his arse felt like…well, never mind, he had let Mycroft thoroughly abuse it. He gingerly walked to the bathroom door where Holmes was waiting, a small smile playing on his lips.

‘Sore?’ he enquired teasingly.

‘A little’ Greg admitted truthfully.

‘Won’t be as bad next time.’ He said

Greg startled. There was going to be a next time? He wasn’t just Mycroft’s play thing for the night? He looked up at the man who kissed him briefly before pushing him slightly into his bathroom, giving him a small, playful squat on the ass. The D.I turned in incredulity, how he dare spank him! He turned to confront, but Mycroft had closed the bathroom door and walked towards the shower.

Lestrade glanced around the room. It was not a bathroom, it was a wet room. Granted there was a rather grand bathtub resting against the opposite wall with washing basin and toilet. A large while cabinet also stood against the far wall. It had glass doors and Greg could see all manner of bottles and lotions within, including large fluffy towels. The shower hung from the roof in the middle of the room, water spraying down merrily and sliding along white marble tiles before draining out through a small plug on the floor. Another beautifully and expensively decorated room he thought. 

Mycroft was already standing under the water; it sprayed across his body, cascading down in rivulets. Greg felt himself get rather warm and slightly aroused again as he watched Holmes reach out for a small bottle of colourful liquid, probably shower gel, he thought, and soaped it onto his body. He swallowed as Mycroft’s long lean fingers playing over his own body, gently but methodically massaging and rubbing, creating a thick lather with the soap. He held out the bottle to Greg, oblivious to the man watching with a little hunger in his eyes.

Lestrade strolled towards the older man, squirting some of the liquid soap into his hands as he went, rubbing it across his bare skin. It felt soft and silky and frothed alarmingly as it can into contact with the water. Standing next to Holmes he reached up slightly to give him a chaste kiss placing his hands on his chest to balance himself. Mycroft’s own hands slid down Greg’s sides before resting on his hips, kneading the flesh gently as he opened his mouth slightly to deepen the kiss.

Greg pulled away and grabbing a small sponge from the stand began rubbing it over Holmes, massaging the lather into his skin as the older man closed his eyes and tilted his head back.  
He gently soaped the torso before him, letting the water slide it away before moving down across his stomach, hips, and legs. He noticed Mycroft was becoming aroused at his ministrations so gently reached out and carefully cleaned his growing erecting, massaging the skin until he was fully hard and quivering in his touch. He looked up, Mycroft’s head was still tilted back, his chest rising and falling more quickly as he became more aroused with Lestrade’s actions, his lips parted and soft sighs escaped.

Greg carefully slid to his knees, noting the cold, hard shower floor was not kind on them. He dropped the sponge at his side as he glanced up at the man towering above him. Mycroft had come out of his trance and was looking down the line of his body at Lestrade kneeling at his feet, water splaying down his body.

‘It is not necessary.’ He said rather softly but Lestrade licked his lips slightly causing the tip to slightly brush along the head of Mycroft’s cock. The man above him made a small moan and the erection in front of him twitched at the contact. Emboldened, Lestrade reached out a tentative tongue to more firmly lick the head. Mycroft made the same noise low in his throat.

This is new, Greg thought, but he mused, he was, after all a man, and knew what he liked so assumed he could extrapolate. How hard could it be to bring pleasure by sucking a cock? He opened his mouth and sucked the head in gently, running his tongue around the tip, lapping at his before pulling back out. Mycroft was looking down at him with hooded eyes.

Lestrade changed tack and – staring from the base, licked from base to tip in one long fluid movement, Mycroft shuddered above him, hip jerking forward slightly. Greg did it again, and then a third time until Holmes placed a hand on the back of his head offering encouragement.

Greg reached up to wrap his hand around the base of the older Holmes’s cock, gently working it with his hand, watching the foreskin work back and forth, a small amount of pre cum oozing from the tip. Still firmly grabbing the base he wrapped his lips around the head working down the shaft until his lips met his own hands and Mycroft was encased within him. The man above him hips flexed slightly as Greg began bobbing his head back and forth in time with the movement of his hand, caressing the underside of the cock with his tongue, swirling it around the head as he drew back before plunging back down again.

Mycroft’s movements were becoming more erratic, Greg could hear soft moans from above him as fingers dug firmly into his hair, encouraging a faster pace of his mouth. He moved his other hand, sliding it up a tense thigh until he gently brushed his balls, cupping them gently and squeezing firmly in time with the movements of his mouth.

Lestrade felt Mycroft’s whole body tense, his hips stopped their movement and he could feel the slight tremble in his legs as his lower body tightened. Greg gave a small start as warm, sticky fluid flooded his mouth unexpectedly hitting the back of his throat. He gagged at the unpleasant taste and texture as a small amount trickled down the back of his throat. He opened his mouth releasing Holmes softening sock and let the rest of the cum flow down his chin to be mixed and washed away with the falling water.

Mycroft reached down to help pull him to unsteady feet, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him in for a kiss before releasing him with a small smile playing on his lips.

 

They finished washing in silence as Mycroft turned off the water and brought a pair of fluffy towels for them to dry off. Heading back out the bathroom into the bedroom Greg started towards the bed eager to lie down. Holmes pulled him back.

‘The cleaners will get that tomorrow. We shall sleep next door.’

Lestrade stared at him. Cleaners?! He meant someone would be in here, removing the sheets that had obviously been used and were covered in stains from, from… he blushed at what people would think.   
He glanced incredulously at Mycroft. Everything they had just done and he still wasn’t prepared to sleep in dirty sheets? Greg laughed inwardly at the man’s quirkiness. A small evil part at the back of his mind was tempted to crawl back into the bed to see what the older Holmes would do but instead sighed and shrugged before following him out the door and heading for the next bedroom and a well earned rest.

~End


End file.
